GameDev Reincarnated into His Own Creation

Vol 2 - Chapter 27: Remote Occurrence

Relief washed through Landre, though she kept her expression measured. She turned her attention back to the withered man on the bench, who watched their exchange with fearful eyes.

"We can't leave him here," she said, already considering how they might transport him.

Without a word, Sarvin moved forward and carefully gathered the man in his arms. The withered figure seemed to weigh almost nothing, his once-robust frame now frail and diminished. He made no protest as Sarvin lifted him, only a soft whimper of pain that made Landre's heart clench.

They adjusted their course, the withered man secured on Sarvin's back as they made their way toward the northern edge of the village. Imelda followed close behind, her parchment and quill tucked safely away, her expression tight with apprehension.

Landre felt the air grow heavier, colder as they got closer. Each step seemed to require more effort than the last, as if the very atmosphere resisted their approach.

The light around them dimmed despite the midday hour. Clouds had gathered overhead, thick and ominous, casting the landscape in gloomy shadow. Landre summoned a small orb of light that hovered above her palm, illuminating their path with its gentle glow.

The mine entrance appeared ahead—a dark wound in the mountainside, reinforced with aged timber supports. Most had begun to rot, the wood warped and splitting from years of exposure. A wooden sign hung crookedly above the entrance, its faded lettering barely legible.

Landre paused several paces from the entrance, her white robes almost luminous against the darkening surroundings. Something caught her eye—footprints in the thin layer of snow, leading into the mine entrance. They remained visible where the mine's overhanging roof had sheltered them from the weather. Fresh tracks, not yet erased by time or elements.

Her heart quickened. Someone had been here recently.

"Saint Landre, perhaps we should reconsider—" Imelda began, her voice tight with apprehension.

"Listen," Landre whispered, raising her hand for silence.

The group fell still. At first, there was nothing but the soft whistle of wind through the valley. Landre closed her eyes, focusing her senses beyond ordinary perception, reaching out with the heightened awareness that came with Shizka's blessing.

Then, carried on a breath of stale air from the mine's depths, came a sound—soft, rhythmic, perfectly timed. A collective breathing, as if dozens—no, hundreds—of lungs worked in perfect unison. The sound pulsed like a massive, shared heartbeat, rising and falling in perfect synchronicity.

Landre felt her skin prickle with goosebumps that had nothing to do with the mountain chill. Whatever waited in that darkness was no natural phenomenon.

"What is that?" Imelda breathed.

Before anyone could speak further, the withered man on Sarvin's back began convulsing. His frail body arched violently, limbs shaking with such force that Sarvin struggled to maintain his hold.

"Set him down!" she commanded, already moving forward as Sarvin carefully lowered the man to the ground.

The man's eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. His jaw worked soundlessly, tendons standing out like cords on his neck. Landre knelt beside him, placing her hands on his chest. Light flowed from her palms—the gentle, healing radiance of Shizka's blessing—but something was wrong. Instead of sinking into his flesh, the light seemed to slide off him without taking hold.

Landre pushed harder, channeling more of her energy into the spell, but the magic refused to take hold. A cold realization settled in her stomach: whatever seized this man resisted Shizka's blessing. In all her training, she'd never encountered anything that could reject divine light so completely.